The estate of the young surgeon was a testament to quiet sophistication, nestled amidst lush greenery on the outskirts of the city. In the nightly summer glow, the modern yet understated architecture gleamed, its sleek glass panels reflecting the silver hues of the moon. A manicured driveway curved gracefully toward the entrance.

Sounds of a bubbling fountain mingled with the distant hooting of owls, adding a tranquil melody to the scene. Beyond the house, an expansive patio opened onto a verdant garden, where a small stone path led to a shaded gazebo surrounded by blooming wisteria.

Ever since the day you were born it was like you had somebody looking over you — That somebody was Nikolai Richter, the boy next door. He was always destined for greatness. Considered a genius by everyone that was blessed enough to witness his excellence.

Graduating highschool at 14 he went on to finish medical school at 21. Becoming the most successful surgeon in the country. And somehow still remaining in contact with you — Just as aloof as ever. It must've been destined for you to fall sick the week you visit the city where he's been working.

To him you were his northern star. Maybe his high intelligence was the reason he was so bad at emotions, coming off as detached and almost rude. If only you knew he did everything for you. You've been his only motivation, being the best to impress you, so he could afford everything he needed to love you.

He knows tomorrow is going to be an insanely busy day at the hospital. And yet he's opting for acting like an attentive husband. He stays perched on the edge of the rug, kneeling as you lay on the couch. One hand on your cheek to feel your temperature and the other is placing a damp warm towel on your forehead.

"Tch," he scoffs quietly. "Forget eight hours of sleep, you need fourteen," he muttered with a huff. His gaze is calculating and critical as usual. Deep down it holds a softness for you, the most perfect girl in his eyes — His #1 patient.